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Wrung Out, Meet Strung Out
“This would be a lot easier,” Marisol observed, “if this table had stirrups.” “New one does,” Adler replied as he carefully inserted the tubing. “Once it’s installed yah can take it fah a test drive.” She grunted her discomfort. “Let’s wait til my next pap smear.” REMP…Radiation Exposure Medical Protocols, were painfully thorough, uncommonly invasive practices. In the engine room, Dorian had scrubbed every inch of her body with brush and special soap, a procedure that left her stinging and raw in all the worst places. Now safely ensconced in the infirmary, the medic set to the most humiliating chores. The breathing treatment had been alright. The huge drink of foul tasting fluid was tolerable. The iodine solution douche… not so much. The act of draining her bladder wasn’t just a run to the bathroom. All the contents were captured, for analysis and disposal with the engine room runoff. Long story short, the forced squat over a bedpan was the icing on a humiliating cake. Now came the coup de grace…a high colonic. “Yah might have some discomfort,” Adler advised as he opened the valve. She could instantly feel the pressure of fluid spreading throughout every cavity in her body. “Oh…oh!” she exclaimed. “I’m full…I’m full! Get the bedpan.” Dorian looked up, meeting the concern in her eyes with a shake of his head. “Sorry. Yah gotta hold it fah fifteen minutes.” “Oh god.” “Yah can put yah legs down an’ relax.” “No. I really can’t,” she protested. “Okay,” Doc answered. “Sorry. Ah know it’s been a tough day.” “There’s an understatement.” She tried undulating her hips to find some ounce of comfort. This may not be worse than a full term pregnancy, but for the moment, Marisol was ready to forego the comparison. Adler busied himself at the nearby counter, as much to preserve what little modesty she may possess as to begin the recording process. “So,” he casually asked, “what caused tha fuel leak?” “Hydraulic fluid.” He turned, landing his eyes upon her face. “Hydraulic fluid? How?” “It corroded the rubber gaskets.” “That happen often?” he asked. “Hydraulic fluid gettin’ inta tha fuel?” “Nope.” He turned back toward the woman who struggled to contain herself. “Have a theory as to cause?” “Yup.” He could sense the darkening of her mood as she offered one tight lipped answer after the next. “Should we be concerned fah any future happenstance?” “I’ll let you know.” In the blessed silence that followed, Marisol fought the painful over fullness of her colon. As time slowly ticked itself to eternity, Dorian finally produced the bedpan. “Oh thank god,” she muttered. “Ah’ve got tests runnin’. Normally, a little fuel doesn’t raise much concern, but yah took quite a dousing,” the medic offered as he removed the bedpan. “Please, close yah robe.” Marisol sat up on the table. She pulled the bathrobe closed, knotting the belt. “How much radiation did I take?” “About seventy-five rads,” he responded. “Not a significant dose, but yah’ll have some symptoms. Nausea, headaches, loss of appetite. Yah skin might take a reddish color. Ah think yah’ll be alright, but drop by each day of the next week fah followup.” “Got it.” She slipped from the table, landing barefoot on the coolness of the deck. “I need coffee.” “Try some food also,” Adler said as she headed for the door. “Marisol, yah system had a shock tahday. Get some rest.” “Thanks, Doc.” She made her silent way to the galley. She felt a mess; her hair wet and stringing as it spread across her shoulders, and only the knee length bathrobe draped around her. Marisol was beyond tired. Every motion produced a sting of her raw skin. As a result, she moved with a near shuffling pace, like a woman many years her senior. Oddly, the main engine hadn’t engaged. Even down here outside the infirmary, Marisol could sense the reactor’s steady hum. All lights and systems were working and accounted for, but Riley hadn’t touched off the main. Her choice, the mechanic thought as she set off for the galley. As Marisol entered the boat’s meal space, she noticed two things. First, the coffee pot lay across the room, dented and dripping out the last remnants of the morning’s beverage. Next was Lt. Riley Thorne, white knuckling the rim of the sink. As she picked up the damaged pot, the mechanic asked “Lieutenant? Are you feeling okay?”